Write Me into Your Daydream
by madefornight
Summary: It was a dream; a crazy unrealistic daydream that was never going to happen. I was just me, just a writer with an idea. But now that idea is coming to life and things are spiraling out of control. My daydream has turned into my nightmare, and I don't know what to do. {Full summary inside} {BC/Oc}
1. Summary

Lux Sofer is a writer. She earns a living on a few short stories published under her penname, Mayfor Night, but her real passion and inspiration is fanfiction. Taking a chance she has her agent send her fanfiction to Mark Gatiss, offering her ideas for season three of Sherlock. She never expected him to get back to her; she certainly didn't expect him to want to use her character and ideas.

Flying to London she feels like it's a dream. This can't actually be her life, her story actually being put on TV; yes, a dream would be the only reasonable explanation. But that dream soon turns into a nightmare. Lux's new life comes with problems she never imagined starting with paparazzi trying desperately to get a picture of the new Sherlock writer. Add confrontation with the other writers, problems with the crew, and the difficulty of being two people at once Lux doesn't think she can handle much more.

But her problems are only just beginning; the press and the fandom are growing restless and some are out for blood, her blood. Suddenly her nightmare becomes very, very real with a threat on her life if she continues working with the show and Lux doesn't know where to turn.

All she wants is to go back to when it was all just a dream. A silly little daydream that was all her own with no influence from the outside world. Now it's been tainted black and the only ray of light comes in the form of a deep voice whispering to her from the shadows, "Write _me_ into your daydream."


	2. A Mind Like Mine

In December of 2012 a man sat down for dinner. The waitress offered him a glass of the house wine which he declined. She smiled and walked away. He looked over the menu but his eyes were unfocused. There was a spark in those eyes and a twitch in the corner of his lips that made Steven Moffat smirk as he approached the table for two. "I've seen that look before," he said when he was within ear shot; "You've been inspired."

Mark Gatiss stood up and shook the hand of his old friend, "When I share what I have I think you will be too." They sat back down and the waitress came back to take Steven's order. He ordered a glass of the wine and she left them to discuss personal matters. For the duration of the meal Mark managed to evade the subject of the evening with small talk. He asked about Steven's kids and his wife. Steven in turn asked about Marks husband, Ian. He smirked as he admitted that Ian was a little annoyed with him recently but when Steven asked he gave the other man a smooth quirk of the eyebrow and changed the subject.

"Well?" Steven finally asked as the finished their meals and the waitress took away their plates, "I've only got a few days left till the Christmas Special and I have a lot to do."

Mark laughed, "The special runs two days from now. There is nothing else to be done."

"While that is true I do have kids to get back to," he set his glass on the table, "It being Christmas and all. So if this isn't about Doctor who, then it's about Sherlock. We've finalized our plan for series three. All that's left is to finish our scripts-"

"Scrap 'em."

Steven paused, raising an eyebrow, "What?"

"Scrap it," Mark smiled, reaching down for the brief case beside him, "I have a new idea for this series."

"An idea worth sacrificing months of planning for?" Steven asked leaning across the table, "Mark, be reasonable-"

"I am," he said pulling out a stack of paper. It wasn't a large stack, probably less than two hundred pages with paperclips holding small sections together. "You need to read this and then we need to get to work."

"Read what?" he asked taking the stack from the other man and glancing over the cover page. "Deducing Tragedy Part One: See no Evil? Mark, what is this?"

"You've heard of Fanfiction, this is one," He smiled. "It's by a popular short story writer over in America. She had her agent send me this because she was tired of waiting for series three and thought we might need help. She's offered her characters and plot as well as her personal help should we ask for it."

Steven gave Mark a look, "Fanfiction? You're suggesting we use… fanfiction?"

"I'm suggesting we use the compelling story of a woman whose life is consumed with tragedy," He said sitting back in his chair, "and she's absolutely made for Sherlock."

"Irene was made for him," he said scanning over the first couple pages.

"The author describes them as two sides of the same coin," he mused. "I adore that chapter. Irene is dark, this new character is light; Yin and Yang. They are very similar if not completely different."

"the character's name is Hanna Hooper," Steven frowned looking over the chapter titles, "as in Molly?"

Mark nodded, "Her younger sister. Molly is the reason Hanna comes into Sherlock's life."

"We said we were going to only use the original characters," he glanced at Mark. "We hesitated in adding Molly at first and now you want to add a family?"

"She is worth adding."

Steven groaned, letting go of the pages to pinch the bridge of his nose, "Mark-"

"Before you say anything, I know I sound crazy," he said pulling out his phone. "You are not the only one I've discussed this with. Last week I asked Ian to take a look and he sent me these as he read," he handed his phone to the other man who took it with an exasperated sigh.

Steven looked over the text files and let out a long breath, "He asked you what he was reading, and you told him to just keep going." Mark smirked over his water as Steven scrolled down. "He asked who the… Monster was?"

Mark only smiled; knowledge about the secret gleaming in his eyes as he nodded for Steven to continue.

He scowled and looked back at the phone, "Well he likes it and…"

Mark cocked his head to the side, "And…?"

"He really likes it," Steven frowned again, "He's became obsessed with it. 'That can't be it, please tell me that's not is. There has to be more, tell me where to find It.'" he quoted the other man's husband before looking back over the pages in front of him, "What happens in this story?"

"Steven what I just handed you is one hundred and forty-six pages of love, mystery, and sadistic twists and turns that even I didn't see coming." Mark said leaning back across the table. "This woman writes like us, she thinks like us, and people will adore the direction she takes us in. I know the amount of work we've done on series three already, I know what I'm asking when I say to scrap what you've written but-"

"You believe it's worth it." he said sliding the phone back across the table.

Mark nodded once, "I wouldn't ask you to if I didn't."

He turned his eyes back to the stack of papers under his hand and frowned quizzically. One hundred and forty-six pages, huh? He'd written scripts longer than that. What could this girl had written that would have Mark and his husband in such a tizzy? Steven hadn't seen him like this since they started Sherlock. All those raw ideas flowing through his head about Canon Doyle's story and now this girl had done the same, but how? What could one-hundred and forty-six pages hold that inspired him as it has?

More importantly: who is the mind behind it?


	3. A Spark

"You don't have to walk me home you know," Aleta said as she walked down the row of small boulders lining one of the houses in the neighborhood. I looked at her. She was looking at her feet, watching where her baby blue high tops connected with the slick surface she paced.

"I know," I exhaled, looking back at my own worn out converse as I trudged through the melting snow. It was warm for a Minnesota winter and definitely too warm for early January. Black slush and salt lined the sidewalks and roads. I could feel it soaking into my shoes and the bottom of my pant legs.

"So why are you here?" she asked jumping off the last rock and into a shallow puddle a few feet ahead of me. A gust of wind swept through the street. Blonde hair swirled around my sister's heart shaped face. Her blue eyes were full of an innocent curiosity that made me bookmark the scene for later use. Maybe I could work it into the story I was working on. Or a future one should it prove not to fit.

"What, you don't want me here?" I teased and she rolled her eyes.

"Of course I want you here," she smiled before giving me a pointed look. "But I have a feeling that you're not just stopping by for a visit. You're avoiding a deadline again, aren't you?"

"I'm always avoiding a deadline," I shrugged, tucking my hands into the back pockets of my jeans. "They were made to be avoided."

"You're being paid a hell of a lot of money to write a fiction story for a widely popular newspaper," she pointed out, looking back over her shoulder. "And yet, you refuse to do it."

"Oh I plan on doing it," I smiled at her, "but for now I'm 'brain storming'."

"You knew what you were going to do before they hired you."

I cocked my head to the side as I thought, "Like four years. It's something I've been toying with for a while now but never got around to writing it. I guess I've been fond of this idea for so long that if I'm going to do it, I want to make sure it's done right. Hence the extra brain storming and avoiding."

"Is this the one where she has cancer but doesn't tell anyone?"

"Yep."

"And she dies."

"Of course."

She stopped walking and turned around to face me, "Why?"

I raised an eyebrow, "Why what?"

"Why do all your stories' end in heart break?"

I shrugged, pushing past her to the front walk of the house, "Because…" I began, looking back at her. "That's how things work in real life. I'm not going to patronize my readers with fairytales."

We got into the house and she made a b line for the couch which she then landed on like a ton of bricks. I walked into the empty kitchen and paused a moment. It was quiet, our parents were gone. The house was empty but for Aleta and me. On the counter behind me was a note addressed to the both of us. Apparently Dad was taking Mom to Duluth for a romantic weekend and wanted me to watch Aleta until they got back.

My eyes narrowed at scrap of paper Mom had torn from who knows what in her hurry to get out of the house, "It's Wednesday."

"They're gone again, aren't they?" I turned to see Aleta standing in the doorway.

"Go get packed," I said tossing the note in the trash. "You're coming home with me."

She tried to argue, "I'll be fine-"

"Aleta go get packed." I ordered and she nodded, hurrying up the stairs to her bedroom. I pulled out my phone once she was out of ear shot and called my mother. She didn't answer, I didn't expect her too. "She's fifteen," I reminded a machine. "She's fifteen and you're supposed to be here. I'm not always going to be around-" I stopped knowing that, despite my orders, Aleta would be on the steps listing every word I hissed into the speaker. "Your place is here, for three more years. After that you can go on all the romantic weekends you want. Come. Home. Now."

I hung up and set the phone on the counter, running my hands through my hair. I wanted to pull it out by the roots. I moved out a little over a year ago now. I wasn't far away, just across town. But after the first weekend that Aleta stayed with me they've been taking off. Leaving a note with a half-assed excuse about why they were gone. It'd gotten to the point where they didn't even give us notice when they were going. They just left. A couple times I would come over to find my sister alone in the house. She was fine, she can take care of herself, but she shouldn't have too.

"Lux," I looked up to see her back in the threshold. This time she had a heavy coat, her backpack, and a small suit case. "I'm ready."

"Uniform too?" I asked. "You still have two days of school left this week."

"Of course," she rolled her eyes. "I'm not an idiot."

I smirked, "I know, get in the car." Aleta got to pick the music as we drove to my apartment complex. She always did when she came over.

"You know she won't get that voice mail till Sunday," she said landing on my couch and reaching for the remote.

"You need to stop listening to my phone calls." I said entering the kitchen and opening the pantry. "Now do you want stale chips n' dip or Mac & cheese for dinner?"

She peered over the back of the couch, "Both?"

"Both is good." We made dinner while the TV played in the background. She told me about school and I elaborated on my story a bit. I don't really like talking about works in progress so I kept that conversation short. After dinner she did her homework. I dicked around on the internet, avoiding responsibility as was my MO.

She stood up to stretch after she finished and walked around to sit with me on the couch. Those big blue eyes of hers smirking as she sat down. "That's a good start, you opened Word.

"The page is taunting me."

"Just write it."

"I'm trying."

"I've been watching you for the better part of an hour; no, you're not."

"I have things on my mind."

"Like?"

I looked at her, should I tell her? No, she'd think I was stupid. But she's my sister. She'd still think I was an idiot she'd just have to continue loving me after she found out. But should I tell her? Yes- or I could not and be happy with that. Or I could and we'd both get a laugh out of it. OR I could just keep it to myself and laugh about. Just tell her- no! Yes! Ugh!

"Lux," she snapped her fingers in front of my face, "what's up with you?"

"I had Megan send Mark Gatiss my fanfiction for ideas about season 3," I blurted out and then clapped my hand over my mouth.

Her face was blank, "Megan… as in the agent lady who yells at you a lot?"

"In fairness, I give her many reasons to yell at me."

A thoughtful frown appeared on her face, "huh."

"Yeah."

"When did you do this?"

"A couple weeks ago," I admitted closing my laptop. "Two weeks before Christmas."

"And?"

My eyes narrowed, "And what?"

She raised an eyebrow, "Has he gotten back to you?"

I swallowed, "Well no but-"

"Then why are you so concerned about it?" she rolled her eyes as she stood up and walked into the kitchen.

"I put myself out there!" I said leaning against the back of the couch. "I sent him my story of which I am very proud of! He could tear it apart and call it rubbish-"

"Do the Brits really say rubbish?"

"Yes, of course they say rubbish."

"Huh."

"But I'm really freaking out about this-"

"You're worried about Brits people saying rubbish?"

"Aleta!" I moaned sinking down against the counter.

"Oh calm down," she laughed opening the fridge to grab the milk. "I was kidding. Honestly Lux, he's more likely to never even know you sent it. It probably got sent to his spam."

I sighed, tucking my chin into the cushion, "I know."

"And, hypothetically, lets say he does read it," she began as she filled her cup, "but he decides it's not a good fit for the show… what will you do?"

I raised an eyebrow, "I'd probably die of humiliation."

She rolled her eyes, "Sorry, the correct answer is you'll be a little bummed but get over it."

"You're the one who said hypothetically."

She gave me an irritated look before continuing, "Now let's say he loves it. He contacts your agent and demands to know the master mind behind the words he just finished reading. What do you do then?"

My eyes narrowed. I hadn't thought about it. I was so caught up with the thought that Gatiss would hate my work and me for it. But what if he liked it? What if he actually wanted to use it? Why would he- that doesn't matter. Why he would or would not like it doesn't matter. If he decided to use my character and story for season three… what would I do?


	4. The Rain Came Down

A man stood outside the Hilton in Central London. A few feet from him rain poured down on the London streets. Anything and anyone that dared try run through its icy drops found themselves soaked and miserable. He gave a chuckle as a rude business man, who'd previously been arguing with the doorman of the hotel over something silly and insignificant, tried to run to the cab that'd been called for him only to run right into a particularly powerful gust of wind and rain and soaked him through and through.

"What's so amusing?" another man asked walking up to the first.

"Karmic justice," he said tapping the ash off the end of his cigarette. "You're here early."

"Yeah well," he shrugged, turning to lookout across the street same as the other man. "The driver somehow made a thirty minuet drive in twenty. What about you?"

"I'm staying here for the moment," He said nodding to the hotel behind him with the white tube hanging between his lips. "How's Amanda?"

"She's great," the second man turned towards the first. "Why are you staying here? You have a house."

The first man smirked, "I do. What about your kids, how are they?"

His eyes narrowed slightly, "they're fine. Why are you changing the subject?"

He shrugged, "I'm just making conversation."

"No, you're avoiding my questions," the second man rolled his eyes. "Just because you're the smart one on camera doesn't mean you are when the camera turns off."

"I think the three of us can agree that I'm the smart one," Gatiss laughed approaching the two men how turned to greet him.

"Mark, it's good to see you." Martin Freeman said shaking his hand.

"Especially under these circumstances," Benedict added with a smile. "I've been waiting for this call for about a year now."

Mark raised an eyebrow, "A year ago the last series had just finished airing."

"Exactly."

Martin crossed his arms, "So this is about Sherlock then."

Mark nodded, "Of course."

"Good because I've been hearing some strange things over the past few weeks that I've wanted to talk to you about." He looked around them before nodding across the street, "However, our private meeting it about to get a lot less private; we've been spotted." The others turned to see a few people stopped under the awning of a shop. Their camera phones were out and snapping away at the three men as they turned to enter the building behind them.

Lunch consisted of more small talk about Martin and Mark's families. The asked Ben about filming for Fifth Estate and in unfortunate correspondence with the man he would be playing. Martin talked about the second Hobbit film and Ben mentioned going to the London Zoo to watch the Komodo Dragons as he would be playing Smaug. Mark talked about his role in Game of Thrones for a bit as they reached the end of their meal. The conversation reached a stand still as their waitress took their dishes away. They exchanged glances as she eyed Ben with a hungry gaze. He gave her a small smile and a wink to which she nearly dropped the plates in her hand. She scurried away and Ben chuckled as the other two rolled their eyes.

"So down to business then," Mark began. "Series three."

"It's in production then," Ben said taking a drink of his tea.

He nodded, "It will be soon, Stephen and Steven are putting the final touches on their scripts and we're working out times for the read through. Though you should know that they are going to be done over several days rather than the one or two we've done in the past."

Ben raised an eyebrow, "Why?"

"I think Martin knows," Mark said turned to the man in question. "You've said you hear rumors, what were they?"

"I heard from a friend, who also happens to know the Moffat's, that our overlaying plot will not be an original Canon Doyle story. I heard… we're doing a fanfiction."

Ben spit out his tea, "What?!"

Mark held up his hands as Martin handed Ben a napkin to wipe his face, "Calm down."

"How can-" Ben paused as the waitress walked by, "How can you expect me to calm down? What are you and Steven thinking? A fanfiction, Mark? Really?"

"Yes."

Ben leaned back in his chair, "So what? I'm to snog Martin then?"

Martin rolled his eyes but Mark only chuckled, "No, no, not one of those. This could, but for the fact that it is clearly based on our show, be published as an original novel because of how she approached the story. She's added a character, her own character. A love interest for Sherlock Holmes."

"I thought Adler was his love interest," Martin said crossing his arms over his chest.

Mark nodded, "She is and she has a place in this woman's story. She is the dark to this new character's light. While Irene is only interested in serving her own interests Hanna only wants to help. They are both brilliant, both beautiful, and both are perfect for Sherlock."

Ben raised an eyebrow, "Yin and Yang."

"Exactly."

"So why are we taking extra day for the read through?" Martin asked.

"The original author deserves a say in what we use and how we use it," Martin explained. "After all we couldn't follow her story completely. Changes had to be made."

"Who is this author? Some teenager with no clue about TV or film?" Ben asked. His displeasure at the idea was clear to everyone.

"We don't know."

"You don't know?" he asked raising an eyebrow, "How can you not know?"

"She is a short story writer," Mark began to explain, crossing his arms over his chest. "She's getting quite popular in America. So her tracks have been well covered. The woman who contacted me, her agent, only gave me her pen name. Mayfor Night."

"I've heard of her," Martin said nodding, "She is good."

"We wouldn't have considered this if she wasn't," Mark said with a pointed look at Ben. "It's a fantastic story. If my word is not enough then I did bring copies of the text for both of you to read if you want."

Ben leaned forward onto the table, "Are you sure about this? Are you absolutely sure?"

Mark leaned forward as well, "Read the story, Benedict."

"I will," Martin chimed in, trying to break the tension between the two men. "I'd like to read it."

Mark turned to look at him and nodded before reaching down to his brief case. Pulling out two copies of the story he handed one to Martin who scanned the cover page.

"Deducing Tragedy Part One," he read, Ben turned to look at him, "See no evil?"

"She's writing a trilogy," Mark smiled.

"One story per episode," Martin nodded flipping through the first couple pages.

"One story per series," Mark corrected him.

"You're kidding," he said letting the pages fall from his fingers. "You're signing her on for three total series?"

"It's an idea but the way this story ends we could stop it there," Mark explained. "It all depends on how well Mayfor is received, how well her ideas are appreciated by our audience."

"What are the other stories called?" Ben asked.

"The other stories?"

"This one is called See no Evil," he nodded toward the text in front of Martin. "What are the other ones called?"

"Part two is called Speak no Lies," Mark said. "She's on chapter 23."

"It's not even finished?"

"See no Evil is a complete enough story that it can stand alone," Mark explained. "She could have ended it right then and there she even said, that if the people who read her story wanted to, they could have stopped reading. Many did, most choose to continue."

"And the reasoning behind the names?" Ben asked with a slight frown. "Why Deducing Tragedy? Why See no Evil?"

Mark placed his hand on the story in front of him, "The series is call Deducing Tragedy because our heroine's life is consumed with tragedy. The story is called See no Evil because when it begins Hanna is blind."

"Blind?"

"Blind."

Martin smirked, "That sounds like something you would write. You or Steven."

"Precisely." He beamed, "And because she is blind she affects Sherlock all the more. He can't deduce her the same way he does everyone else. And what he can deduce is only because she's allowed it. She is brilliant; she knows how his mind works. He sees only what she wants him to. Like when he first met Irene and she was naked. He could deduce nothing because that was how she designed it."

Ben nodded slowly, his eyes on the stack of papers under Martin's hands. Mark was so sure of his plan, so sure of someone else's ideas. If he was bringing it up to them then Moffat was probably on board as well. These men were two of the most brilliant story tellers he knew. They've done brilliant things with Sherlock thus far. They wouldn't jeopardies that.

"Give me the copy," he sighed finally. "If I'm going to be acting out fanfiction I might as well know how this author portrays the character."

"Fanfiction?" the waitress squeaked and they turned to see her standing a few feet from them, "Series three is going to be a fanfiction?!"


	5. Some Stories are Meant to be Told

**_"Don't do this, please James," I grabbed his arm and he turned to face me, "Let's just go, I don't want to be here." _**

**_"Don't worry, babe," he smiled as one of the nameless and faceless people in the barn with us handed him the gun. "We've played close to fifteen times now and no one's died. No one's even gotten hurt."_**

**_"Luck," I whispered, squeezing his hand, "You've been lucky fifteen times… how long do you think that's going to last?"_**

**_He smiled and in that smile I saw everything I needed to know. James would never believe me; he would never take this seriously. I'd known from the beginning that he was addicted to adrenalin. He literally hung over the side of the hand rail in the mall when we were on the third floor and said he would let go if I didn't go out with him. He was only kidding of course but I could see the rush he got. That rush, it meant everything to him. _**

**_"Jess," he said running his thumb over the back of my hand. "It's perfectly safe. I'll prove it to you," he turned to look at his friends, "WHO WANTS TO PROVE IT TO HER?!" He shouted at the nameless, faceless creatures around us who whooped and cheered. He laughed as he pointed it at a girl a few feet away who giggled and told him to bring it on. James pulled the trigger._**

**_Nothing._**

**_"See?" he turned back to me, those blue eyes met mine and I felt my world begin to fall apart. "Or do you need me to prove it again?" He pointed it at a boy this time. He was a kid, maybe fourteen, and he looked completely terrified. _**

**_"No James!" I shouted shoving his hand away before he could pull the trigger. _**

**_He looked at me like I'd struck him, "What the hell is your problem, Jess?" _**

**_"What the hell is yours?" I countered. "He's a kid!"_**

**_"He's fine!"_**

**_"He's lucky," I gestured around us, "You're all lucky, but your luck will run out and someone will die!"_**

**_"No one's going to die!" _**

**_I shook my head, "James… please, end this."_**

**_"Jess," he sighed, rolling his eyes, "You're over reacting." _**

**_I swallowed the lump rising in my throat and nodded my head slowly, "Okay..." I started. "Okay, if I'm over reacting then point it at me."_**

**_"What?"_**

**_"You heard me," I growled now, "If it's perfectly safe then point the gun at me… and shoot. But know that if you pull that trigger we're done. It doesn't matter if I live or die because I will walk out of here and I will never be looking back."_**

**_He shrugged taking a step back. He pressed the barrel against my forehead as a tear fell down my face. When I first met James, in that mall as he hung off the edge, I felt an instant connection to him. I loved him. I thought he felt it too. I thought he loved me too. _**

**_He loved the rush, he loved adrenalin._**

**_He never loved me._**

**_*BANG*_**

I pushed my laptop back to look at my work. Some major edits were required but overall I liked the story and it was an adequate first draft. I considered sending it to my agent who would then send it to the paper as proof that I was in fact working on their precious story but the thought made me laugh. Mayfor Night had a reputation to keep up and waiting till the absolute last minute to submit her work was of one of the things that, in my opinion, made her great.

Mayfor didn't play by the rules her typical clients tried to tie her down with. She wasn't afraid to tell them what she thought about their 'deadlines' and 'updates' that they tried to insist on. She worked at her own pace and if they wanted her to write for them then they would have fall into step with her.

How absurd, I thought with a bemused smile. Technically, I was Mayfor. Mayfor Night was my penname and yet I treated her like one of my characters. She was an ever growing story to be written down. But her biggest adventure, I thought, her biggest adventure was just around the corner.

My laptop was yanked out of my hands and I looked up just in time to see a flash of blonde running down the hall. "Aleta!" I shouted running after her. I turned into the hall as the bathroom door slammed and I pounded my fist against the wood. "Give it back!"

"Shhhh," she giggled, "I'm trying to read."

"No…." I groaned, banging my head against the cool surface of the door, "it's not ready…"

"Which is why I'm in the bathroom where you can't take it away from me," I could hear the smirk in her voice. "You really have no faith in love do you?"

"Why do you say that?"

She opened the door, "He shot her."

"So?"

"So, they were in love!"

"You obviously didn't really read it," I said yanking the computer out of her hands, "because if you had then you would know that he never really loved her. He loved the thrill of danger and taking risks."

"Then why ask her out in the first place?" she countered. "What about her made him want to ask her out?"

"The need for human companionship," I groaned out an exasperated sigh as I turned away from her. "I don't know, Aleta."

"You're the author," she protested, following me into the living room, "You're supposed to know everything about the story and the characters!"

"I'm still fleshing them out!" I shouted back as I set the computer on the coffee table. "This is an awful first draft of a story I hadn't even thought of before I started it this morning! I haven't don't character profiles or anything but this! So will you please back off?"

She gave me a nonchalant shrug walking into the kitchen for breakfast and I pinched the bridge of my nose. It was times like this that I wished I was more like Mayfor, who would have said something smart and then been the one to walk away. Mayfor would have never let Aleta get under her skin like I did. Mayfor would have the answer to the questions she asked. Mayfor is brilliant. I'm just me.

The phone rang, drawing me back to reality while my sister yelled from the kitchen, "Telephone!"

I rolled my eyes, "You could pick it up instead of being thoroughly unhelpful." She only smirked and I contemplated kicking her as I passed by the table. "Hello?"

"Lux?" My agent, Megan, sounded concerned on the other end. Probably because of the amount of menace in my voice when I answered the phone. "I've just called; how are you already this wound up?"

"It's not you," I reassured her, "Though it might be depending on what you have to tell me this early. I've barely had time for my coffee and my sister spent the night, you know how she terrorizes me in the mornings."

"Well then I should probably give you some good news then, huh?"

I raised an eyebrow, "Would this be your definition of good news or mine?"

"Yours," she sighed heavily, I could hear the clicking of her nails on a keyboard in the background. "Unfortunately for me this will only serve to assist you in your desire to procrastinate the project at hand away."

"Oh goody, do tell!" I grinned, "I love when things get in the way of work."

"You remember a few weeks ago when you asked me to send that waste of time story to those people in London?"

"First of all, Fanfiction is not a waste of time."

"Anything that stops you from working on commissions is a waste of time," she countered.

"Second, of course I remember," I sighed, leaning back against my kitchen counter, "It is the single most anxiety inducing thing I have done in my entire life."

"Apart from the never ending unease that you cause me," she sighed, "You have at least started working on the newspaper story, haven't you?"

"What are you asking about the email?"

I could feel her glare through the phone, "Well believe it or not, and I certainly did not, this particular story might not have been such a waste of time. They responded."

I paused, my eyes narrowing, "What do you mean?"

"I mean I'm looking at an email from one Mark Gatiss saying he must speak with the mastermind behind this brilliant story as soon as possible."

"This isn't funny Megan," I said pinching the bridge of my nose.

"Then it's a good thing I'm not joking."

"Seriously," I growled into the phone now. "After weeks of suffering in fear about that damn email you think it would be funny to just pretend to get a response saying exactly what I want them to say? I'm hanging up now."

"Lux!-" I hung up the phone before she could say anything more.

"You okay?" I turned to look at my sister and sighed.

"No, not really," I waved her off, "Go get ready for school, I'll drive you."

"Are you sure?" she asked, "You seem pretty upset…"

"I'm fine," I lied. "The newspaper suffered a breakdown in communication and expects the story a week before it's due. Megan is straightening it out."

She nodded slowly and turned away. "You look like Mom when you lie, did you know that?"

At noon I was standing in an unreasonably long line to order a cup of long overdue coffee. Because of Megan's lie and then Aleta's comment I'd spent what had been slated as work time driving around the city trying to calm down. How those two managed to stress me out this much I will never know.

This line wasn't helping any.

"Sorry about the wait," a girl, probably just out of high school, said as I reached the front. "What can I get for you?"

"My ususal," I yawned as I held out five dollars.

"Uh…" she looked from me to the money and back again.

"Oh," I laughed and gave her a tired smile, "You must be the new girl Ann was saying would start today. Sorry, I'm Lux, I'm in here all the time."

"Oh," she nodded with an uneasy smile. "So you're usual is…?"

I bit my lip as I thought, "Uh… large vanilla latte with a shot of peppermint and hazelnut and a double shot of espresso…. At kid temp because I don't care for burnt taste buds."

"Okay…" she looked lost as her eyes ran over the touch screen.

I leaned over the counter, "It's the button that says 'Lux'." I pointed to it on the screen and her eyes got big.

"So when you said you come in a lot-"

"I mean four or five times a day," I grinned holding up the cash again.

She took it and reached for a large cup, "Name- wait I know your-"

"I believe her name is Mayfor." I froze. The girl across from me looked confused and the voice revealing my secret chuckled. "But I could be thinking of someone else it is entirely possible."

"Someone else I'm afraid," I cleared my throat, refusing to look at the man. "I've never heard that name before."

"I have," the girl piped in and I raised an eyebrow, "Well it's the name of that Author, Mayfor Night."

"Oh really?" I frowned thoughtfully, "I've never heard of her."

"Well she's still kind of an underground thing," she shrugged, "But I know she's going to do big things someday. She's an amazing writer."

I smiled, "I'll have to look her up."

She smiled in return, "You're coffee will be done in a few minutes."

I nodded and stepped aside. My eyes falling to the floor as I made my way to my usual table where my laptop and notes where already laid out. I kept my back to the counter, my hands shaking as I struggled to keep my breathing under control. Someone knew my secret, but how? I never told anyone, Aleta and Megan would never; they knew how public scrutiny terrified me. How? Had I let something slip online? No, impossible. I was so careful!

"I didn't mean to traumatize you," the voice slid into the seat across from me and my eyes fell into my lap.

"Well that ship has sailed unfortunately," I swallowed, "You know who I am, no one is supposed to know-"

"Lux," I looked up and nearly fainted. "You're name is Lux, right?"

"Y-yes," I whispered; my eyes wide as saucers.

"Good, I was afraid I'd picked up the wrong cup," Steven Moffat slid a large coffee cup across the table and I shut my laptop.

"This is a trick," my voice shook, "Right?"

"I should hope not," he smiled around his own coffee, "Otherwise I flew out here for nothing."

"You…" I trailed off, my eyes narrowing just barely. "You want to use my story?"

"Yes-"

"Why?"

He let out a laugh, his brown eyes twinkling with amusement that was just a tad sadistic. "Because you're characters and ideas and plot is something I am very interested in. The things you wrote are not an uncommon plot line but how you wrote them… that is unlike anything I have ever seen."

I raised an eyebrow, "And you write Doctor who."

He chuckled, "I do so I should be used to unusual things from writers."

I nodded slowly, taking a sip of my coffee. "I should apologies to Megan."

"Who?"

"My agent, I may have… argued with her this morning." I explained, "I didn't think she was telling the truth."

"Understandable."

"Yeah."

I took another drink.

He did too.

"So…" my eyes narrowed, "What exactly do you want from me."

"We would like your permission to use your characters and plot for season three," he said leaning forward in his seat, his elbow resting on the edge of the table. "And we would like your assistance in developing and producing, probably even in casting. You know your character inside and out while we can only speculate at some of the things she does. You know what to look for in an actress that Mark and I could never see. If we are going to do this right, then we need you."

She laughed, "Steven Moffat asking for my help… You're sure this isn't a trick, a dream?"

"A trick; no," he mused taking another sip of his coffee, "A dream… well, who can ever really tell?"

I let out another laugh and nodded once. My eyes falling to my notes and then back again, "Okay, but I have some conditions."

"Of course."

"I get final say in the choices you make about my character and plot," I said leaning forward as well. "You want to change something I have to approve."

"Done."

"One more thing," I bit my lip, "Should things get out of hand I want to be able to pull the plug one the whole thing."

His eyes narrowed, "there could be potential financial problems with that."

"Tough shit," I said and his eyes widened. "You want to use my story? I want to make sure you treat it properly. If I think that anything is out of place I reserve the right to end it all right then and there. These are my conditions, Moffat. Take it or leave it."

* * *

><p><strong>hi guys! long time no see! sorry to have been absent the last... well- forever. i had a lot on my mind and things were kinda spiralling out of control but i am back! i hope you enjoyed this! let me know with a review! also i posted a one shot i used to help me get back into writing called Beautiful Love go check that out! <strong>

**that's all for now! i hope i'll be posting more frequently in the future but i cant make promises :( **

**TTFN**

**-Katy **


	6. Imagine

Dreams can be dangerous. The tendency in which dreams take what you desire most in the world and dangle it just out of reach can propel people to great success or it can drop them over the nearest cliff. Because, more often than not, when a dream offers you everything you have ever hoped for just as it comes within reach, you wake up.

That's what I was waiting for as my plane crossed the Atlantic, to wake up, for the world to turn and laugh at the girl foolish enough to believe in a dream come true. But nothing like that happened. Steven Moffat sat beside me as he quietly read through the last half of my fanfiction. Every now and then he would ask about a characters motive behind certain actions. I would answer, my voice shaking with anxiety. I want to be happy about this, and a small part of me was. But I couldn't be allowed to lose my senses. No matter how much I wanted this to come true, and my god did I want it to come true, it wouldn't be the fairy tale I daydreamed it would be.

But maybe it could be something close.

"You still think I'm lying to you," he said closing the binder with my story inside.

I shrugged, my eyes followed the flight attendant as she made her rounds, "I feel I've done nothing to deserve an opportunity like this, like I cheated."

"In a way you did," he reasoned. "You didn't go through the usual channels to get here but you are here all the same."

"People don't like cheaters," I sighed looking out my window, "Do you think they'll hate me for it?"

"Oh, most definitely," he said and my head whipped round, "Just as all public figures are disliked for taking short cuts. How dare you have the surgery to look the way we demand that you look. How dare you make a joke that offended me but not someone else and they thought it was funny. Everyone has an opinion and they are not afraid to voice it. It is a hazard of the job. Not everyone likes you."

"I've always understood that," I sighed, "It's impossible to please everyone and some people will not like you for the simple sake of not liking you. But I've always gone out of my way to avoid giving them a reason to hate me. Public scrutiny has always been… an issue I'd rather not deal with."

"Is that why you have the pen name?"

"It is and it is why I'd like to continue to use that name going forward," I said, tapping my finger so my class ring clicked against the arm rest. "I'm about to step into a world I never dreamed I'd even get close to. As Lux I would never be able to handle it, it's too much at once and even gradually I don't know if I could. But as Mayfor… well she's kind of like my shield, she can handle… anything."

"You talk like an actor assuming a character," he mused and I shrugged.

"Sometimes I have to be something similar to that," I admitted, "Just to get through the day I have to adapt, adjust my personality to best navigate the situation at hand."

"Ma'am?" the attendant made me jump and Steven chuckled. "Sorry, I didn't mean to scare you."

"It's fine," I gave her a weak smile and averted my eyes.

"Did you need anything before the plane begins it's decent?"

"Uh, no- I'm fine."

"Okay, and you Sir?"

"I'll be fine, thank you,"

"Okay." She walked away and I let out a slow breath.

"So what personality did you assume there?"

"None," I glared slightly, "I didn't know she was coming just yet."

He looked at his watch, "She is making her final rounds a little early but not entirely outside of normal. We should be at the airport within the hour."

"Oh good," I sighed closing my eyes.

"Afraid of flying?"

"No I'm just bored out of my mind." I muttered letting out a short breath. "I have been for most of the flight."

"You could have slept."

"And throw off my already screwed up sleep schedule," I rolled my eyes, "while simultaneously trying to get a jump start on adjusting to the new time zone? Yeah, not that easy."

Steven laughed at me, "Miss Sofer, you will be a delightful addition to the writing staff."

"Not me," I reminded him, "Mayfor. She's your new writer."

"Yes I know-"

"I need to hear you say it," I said turning in my seat to face him. "Please."

He frowned, his head tipping to the side as his eyes met mine, "Mayfor Night will be a wonderful addition to the writers of Sherlock. She is taking season three to a place we couldn't be happier with."

I gave him a weak smile, "Thank you."

"We should get you a disguise," he said with a thoughtful frown, "A wig and a light coat for you to wear during the read through and on set so no one recognizes you."

I made a face, "We'll mostly be inside; kinda warm don't you think?"

"Probably," he pursed his lips. "Maybe a pair of sunglasses."

"What about when I run into someone and I don't have my wig or sunglasses?" I asked with a small shrug.

"You're staying at the hotel."

"What if I'm on set or somewhere I shouldn't be?"

"You are desperate to poke holes in this plan."

"I believe in being prepared."

"Mark has a niece about your age," he said. "You can say you are her if you are caught in the wrong place at the wrong time."

"We should ask him about it first," I sighed, "He'll be at dinner tonight, won't he?"

Steven laughed, "He wouldn't miss it for the world, plus it's been in the calendar for months. This would have been our last meeting before the read through to be sure we are all on the same page. But, as you and your coöperation change everything it is more along the lines of going over your story with a fine tooth comb to be sure we don't miss any important details."

"So basically it's the same thing but now I'm coming along."

He frowned thoughtfully, "And yet it seems like everything has changed."

Everything had changed, just not for him. My whole world would never be the same but it still didn't feel real. This wasn't my life, how could it be? This sort of thing only happened on TV or in bad Mary Sue fanfictions, not to me. Even hours later, as I unpacked my bags, I was waiting for my alarm to go off. Though I had allowed myself to be happier, allowed that part of me to grow and radiate joy. I sat at the foot of the canopy bed smiling like an idiot as I pressed my forehead against the post. My story was going to be on TV. The world was going to see my ideas performed by brilliant actors and my character was going to come to life. For this one perfect moment reality and my daydream were one in the same and I was so, so happy.

"Ah there she is," I heard Steven say as I approached the table of writers tucked at the back of the restaurant in my hotel. "Gentlemen, I'd like to introduce Mayfor Night, the mind behind See no Evil. My dear, as you know this is Mark Gatiss and Stephen Thompson."

"Pleasure," Stephen bowed his head.

I bowed my head as well, "Yeah, you too."

Mark smiled and reached for my hand, "My dear, it is an honor to meet you, I am a big fan."

"T-thank you," I stuttered out.

Steven began, "Season three, as everyone one here knows, will be based on Miss Night's fanfiction See no Evil. This meeting is for us as mere readers to ask questions and better understand the material."

"I'll try to answer any questions you have as best I can," I said with a shy smile.

"Okay first things first; why does Hanna do the cooking and cleaning?" Mark demanded and we all gave a chuckle. "It has really bothered me; she's such a brilliant character with more than enough money why is she doing the mundane work around the flat?"

I raised an eyebrow, "Because she's not helpless."

"I understand that but please elaborate."

"No offense but I don't think you do," I bit my lip and tapped my ring on the table, "In the first chapter Molly wants Hanna to hire someone to come around and help her with things but she says no because she's not helpless."

"But she's brilliant," he continued, "Surely she could make better use of that time."

"She can but it's not about that," I explained, "for Hanna doing the dishes and cooking the food is a way of telling the world that she doesn't need to be coddled. That just because she is blind it doesn't mean she can't still do things on her own, she is her own person and she can do things for herself."

Mark smiled before hold his hand, palm up, towards Moffat. "Pay up."

I frowned looking between the two, "You bet on what my answer would be?"

"He thought it was just to fill her time."

"Five years in a house alone," Steven scoffed as he but a twenty in Marks hand. "Not much to do otherwise."

"Don't look now but we have admires," Stephen said averting his gaze from the entrance of the restaurant where a few people with expensive cameras stood.

I turned my face, my hair falling over my shoulder to create a barrier. "Steven, should I leave?"

"Probably best," he said looking at the paparazzi through the corner of his eye. "Do you have that notebook with you?"

"Yes."

"Ask us for autographs."

I pulled out the book from my pocket and slid it across the table. Flipping my hair back over my shoulder I smiled and began fidgeting my hands nervously in my lap, "You guys are amazing! Doctor Who and Sherlock are brilliant and I am so sorry for interrupting your meal but can I possible have your autographs? I mean, it's just- you guys are my heroes! I wish I could come up with things half as brilliant as you all do!"

"Something tells me that one day you will," Mark chuckled as he signed the page.

I took back the little notebook, and beamed as I stood up. Glancing down at the page I saw the note Steven wrote there and nodded before scurrying off towards the entrance. I kept beaming, looking down at the signatures and back at the table like I couldn't believe my luck at running into them here of all places. The paparazzi seemed to buy it, ignoring me as I passed them by to make my escape to the elevator.

I could feel myself start to panic. Less than a day, hell less than two hours, in London and already some idiot with a camera might have compromised my identity. I cursed my reckless behavior. I shouldn't have gone to dinner without a disguise. I should have been more vigilant of my surroundings. The public knew that the read through was happening soon, the press would pay a lot for the secrets of season three. How did I forget the facts, I sighed heavily as I banged my head against the cold metal of the elevator wall.

There was a ding and the doors opened. I kept my head against the wall, cringing as I realized the elevator hadn't moved since I stepped inside. I was still on the ground floor and it was entirely likely that whoever had joined me saw me walk in. Just don't acknowledge him, I told myself as I quietly prayed, to whatever god would listen, that I become one with the wall and cease to exist.

The enigma behind me shifted his weight from one foot to the other. Clearly unsure if he should say something or just let me stew in my awkwardness. "Are you okay?" his voice was deep, smooth; it entrapped my consciousness in the riddle of its familiarity. I had heard that voice before, but where?

I answered him with a shrug, "I've been better."

"Do you need me to call someone…?"

Why are you talking to the freak in the elevator, I thought as my eyes narrowed. "No, I'm okay."

"Okay."

Silence.

"It's just that you're standing in front of the buttons-"

"Right, what floor?"

"6"

"Oh goody."

I could nearly hear him raise an eyebrow, "You have something against the sixth floor?"

"No," I let out a deep breath as I stood up straight and turned around, "It's noth-HOLY MOTHER OF GOD-" I slapped my hand over my mouth and backed into the corner I had just come out of.

"Right… I'm nearly positive that people should only react like that when they see their worst nightmare come to life." He shifted his weight again, "And if I'm your worst nightmare than I do apologize."

"You…" I trailed off, taking two baby steps forward to poke him in the breast pocket of his expensive looking suit. "You're real…"

His eyes narrowed just a fraction, "Yeah, last time I checked."

I stepped back again, "Right sorry- I should keep my hands to myself."

He smiled, "Don't worry I won't press charges."

I gave an anxious laugh, "Thanks, you've put all my worry to rest."

"Is your imagination usually vivid enough to warrant a jab to the chest?"

"It can be," I said looking down at my fingers as they fidgeted with the long sleeves of my hoodie. "Never underestimate the power of daydreams Mr. Cumberbatch, the moment you do is the moment you become a slave to their will.

He raised an eyebrow, a bemused smirk spreading across those soft pink lips, "How do you mean?"

I paused, my gaze catching his, "I-I don't know actually." I frowned in thought and cleared my throat, "I was just kind of saying words in a moment of panic but it raising an interesting point none the less. I will have to explore the train of thought further and I'm rambling on when you could care less- what floor did you say? Six right?" I rushed my words as I turned away from him. What I need right now, I thought in despair, is for a mysterious freak lighting storm to send a million volts of electricity through my body before disappearing from inside these metal walls.

I could head his chuckle as a hand was placed on my tense shoulder, "Relax," he smiled as I turned my head to look at him. "This isn't going nearly as bad you think it is."

A relieved smile flickered across my expression, "Are you sure? Because I'm ninety-eight percent certain that I sound like a crazy person."

He nodded slowly, his eyes locked on mine, "You're doing fine."

"Okay," I took a breath, "Thank you, I was on the verge of a panic attack."

"I wouldn't want you to go through that because of me," his smile was gentle as his hand dropped from my shoulder. "Unpleasant things."

I bit my lip, "Very unpleasant, thank you."

He held up his hand for me to shake, "Benedict Cumberbatch, but I gather you already knew that."

"Lux," I introduced myself as my small hand slid into his, "And yeah, I did. For a while, after I finished season two of Sherlock, I was convinced I was going to marry you."

He laughed with me as he turned to face the doors, "Well what changed that?"

"Reality," I shrugged, turning as well. "The chances of meeting you were virtually nonexistent. Plus you're happy with your girlfriend- Olivia I believe is her name- I don't want to be known as that girl."

He raised an eyebrow, "Olivia and I have not been together for years-"

I interrupted him with a shy smirk, "Did you really think everyone bought your break up story?"

He turned back towards me, "Yes. We did."

I shrugged, shifting my weight away from him, "Most people aren't okay with their ex coming to a show where they will be in the nude, much less they bring a relative- and I know you're acting but it's still… unusual."

"We separated on good terms," he persisted.

I gave him a weary smile, "You told all the reporters that but it still felt…off. I didn't believe you."

He turned back towards the doors, "Has anyone ever told you that you are far too perceptive for your own good?"

"I've upset you," I looked away.

"No," he sighed, "just unnerved me. To my knowledge on one took the story as anything but truth. For one as young as you to see through it is troublesome to say the least. Perhaps I'm not as great an actor as everyone says."

"No!" I grabbed hold of his arm and his gaze whipped around to catch mine, "You're an amazing actor! Please understand that! What you give to these characters is beautiful to behold. I don't see you on the screen I see Sherlock which is more than I can say about some other actors in Hollywood. So please don't ever doubt your abilities."

A faint smile flickered across his lips as one hesitant hand reached up to squeeze mine lightly, "Okay, I won't."

I nodded once before realizing I was still holding his arm and quickly let go. "Sorry."

He laughed, "I suppose it doesn't matter anymore that you knew the truth about Olivia and I. We're no longer together, for real this time."

"What happened?" I asked before slapping my hand over my mouth, "Sorry it's not my place to ask-"

"It's fine," he smiled but I could tell it wasn't, "Work got in the way, I travel a lot and she couldn't come with me much of the time. We grew apart."

"Long distance can be hard."

"You speak from experience?"

"Oh no, I've never had a real relationship," I explained, "But I write, short stories. One centered on a man who's life wish was to travel the world while his love was committed to their roots."

He tipped his head to the side a skeptical expression clouding his eyes, "No offence, but it's not the same."

My eyes narrowed, "Offence taken because to me it is. These aren't just stories. These characters, their emotions, are very real and I feel all of it when I write. Her pain and his ambition, the world their part of… it's more than just words on a page to me." I turned away from him, my eyes falling to my hands as I spun my ring around my finger. "I-I think I'll take another elevator. Goodbye Mr. Cumberbatch-"

"Lux," he grabbed hold of my arm and turned me before I could push the button to open the doors. "I'm sorry, I didn't know. Please, share the lift with me." I hesitated before nodding once. He let me go and I pressed the button to the sixth floor. The ride was silent, but not unpleasant as we stood side by side. Meeting him wasn't what I thought it would be, whether it was better or worse I couldn't quite decide. It was… something else.

We walked down the halls together and he glanced sideways at me. "So…" he trailed off and I glanced at him, "What brings you to London?"

"Work," I toyed with the ends of my sleeves, "I was offered something… something I could never pass up."

"What as that?" he asked as we turned the corner to see Mark standing in front of my door.

"Oh there you are," he said looking at me as he strolled down the hall. "I was wondering where you had run off to. Hello, Ben I hope she wasn't bothering you."

I gave him a small shrug as Ben looked between us, "You know her?"

"She's my cousin's daughter," Mark explained, "At the request of my family, and a touch of fondness for the girl, I agreed to let her audition for a role in season three. And should she not get the part she would serve as my personal assistant on set."

Ben looked to me, "I thought you said you were a writer?"

I shrugged, "Everyone has a hobby."

"You were telling him about your writing?" Mark beamed, "Lux is a wonderful writer."

"Not that good," I muttered, shifting my weight.

He chuckled, "She's better than she gives herself credit for."

"Speaking of writers," Ben's focus turned to Mark, "Has that woman arrived?"

"Her name is Mayfor and yes she has," Mark sighed glancing at me briefly. "We had a brief dinner with her before something came up and she had to leave early. I didn't get to ask your question and I still think you would insult her."

"What question?" I asked with a frown.

"She shouldn't be insulted," Ben ignored my question, "She's lucky we're doing her story at all if you ask me."

"Yes, Ben, you've made your position on the matter very clear," Mark pursed his lips. "Have you even started reading the story yet?"

"Of course I have," he waved off the other man.

"In what chapter does Sherlock come back?"

"You mean it's not chapter one- what's the point if it's not chapter one?" Ben asked with a frown and I ground my teeth together. What's the point? The point was to set up Hanna! To bring her to the story as a full-fledged character, not a shadow to solidify over the course of the story. I wanted her to be established before Sherlock comes into her life. I didn't want him to define her.

Ben clearly didn't understand that.

"I'm gonna go to bed," I excused myself.

"Lux," Mark stopped me before I got the door. "Auditions for a lead in the show are tomorrow, will you be coming?"

"Me?" I raised an eyebrow, and offered him a small chuckle, "No, I'm not that good an actress. Plus that writer woman, Mayfor, is intimidating; I'm not about to get her in way."

"I think you would do fine," Mark persisted, "but if you don't think you're up for it then I respect it. Perhaps you can tour the set since you will have free time." I nodded once before pushing open my door and disappearing into my room. I fell asleep quickly. Physically I probably could have stayed up a while longer but I was just so emotionally exhausted. I felt like I'd been awake for days on end. Everything was going well and then that damn elevator ride happened. First of all it was the strangest conversation I'd ever had with another human being. And, being the high functioning hermit that I am, I've dug myself into a few pretty bizarre interactions. Second, where was the charming, polite, gentleman he was always portrayed to be? He wasn't rude, at least not directly, but he wasn't the man I thought he was.

As I lay back on my bed, my hair strewed across the pillowed and my eyes slowly fluttering to a close, one last thought crossed my mind and infected my dreams.

Benedict Cumberbatch was a professional liar.


	7. Becoming Mayfor

I took a step back to examine the mystery in the mirror. She looked like a snobby creative type, her head tipping to the side as I watched her through the reflection. Her hair was long, bright blonde layers that cascaded down her back. Her bangs cut a hard line across her eyebrows and dusted the top of her sunglasses. They were so dark that you couldn't see her eyes and large enough to cover most of her face. She took them off and I could only marvel at what laid beneath them. Clear porcelain skin with just a touch a warmth in her cheeks; she looked like a member of the upper class but with an exotic touch in the dramatic angle of her eye makeup. It was probably a little over the top, I thought with a small frown, but it accentuated the green in her eyes and gave her a dangerous element that I liked. Her clothing was simple, black leggings and long sleeve shirt with a white fish net knitted poncho. Swede ankle boot completed the look and were far more comfortable than the hooker boots Moffat and suggested in the beginning.

No one would recognize me like this, hell I could barely recognize myself and I was staring in the mirror. This is how the world will view me- no, I corrected my thoughts; this is how the world will view Mayfor. Mayfor Night, I reflected as my chin raised and a sly smirk pulled at the corners of my shiny pink lips, another character come to life.

I stepped out of my room, where Mark and Steven were waiting for me, and gave them a small grin. "Hello boys." My voice was low, carrying a light Latin-accent as I tapped my glasses against the side of my hand.

"Mayfor," Steven held out a hand and I shook it.

"Mr. Moffat," I bow my head and he chuckled.

"It's an honor," Mark drew my attention to him and I smiled, "I can't speak for Steven but I, personally, am a fan of your work."

"Of course you are," I chuckled, "Otherwise I would not be here."

"I suppose not," he reasoned and I shook my head.

"A poor joke," I placed my hand on his shoulder, "I am honored as well, it is a dream come true."

"Yes, well, you might not think so for long," Steven checked his watch, "We have a long day of auditioning to get through."

"I could see the line from my window," I glanced at him as we started down the hall to the elevators. "Surely it is impossible to audition all the girls out there?"

"We will not get to all of them no," he explained, "there is a team who will see the girls first and send us the ones with potential but I still expect being here for most of the day."

"Perhaps a drink when we are finished?" I suggested. "In America I am too young and I've been looking forward to the opportunity."

"Ah, the gift of youth," Mark chuckled as we stepped into the lift.

I walked to the back of the glass box and looked out over the lobby. Actresses were lined up; eyeing the material they'd been given at the door. Beyond them fan girls looked about anxiously, news that Ben was staying at this hotel had hit the fandom and caused quite the stir. My whole floor was blocked off to anyone not checked in. Not that it had done a great deal, twice this morning I heard the screams of fan girls being carried away by security.

Mix in with the hopeful on lookers the press and paparazzi patrolled. Expensive cameras in hand they watched the crowd, looking for the secrets of season three. Little did they know, it was already published online and had been there for months. How amusing it would be when the series aired and my readers recognized my story. I wonder what they'll say.

"Mayfor," Steven brought my attention back to him as we reached the ground floor. "Why don't you tell us more about the character?"

I ran my tongue over my lips, "Is this you trying to distract me from the crowd?"

"I thought it would help," he nodded, "So tell us about her. What are you looking for?"

"To me she is the embodiment of innocence," I began as the doors opened. It felt like the world turned to look. Some cheered, some booed, I expected as much. But the thing that surprised me was how I held my head high and continued my conversation without giving the flashing lights of camera so much as a second thought. I knew they were there but I pressed on as if they weren't, "The white rose in the garden. She is pure and beautiful in her soul despite all the dark that surrounds her."

"What about appearance?" Steven asked as Mark hung back to sign a few things for the fans and speak to the reporters.

"She must be blonde," I said and he opened the door to the conference room. "Or we must die her hair. Other than that her appearance can vary. I only require the very best actress to portray my character."

He smiled as we walked into the room, the lobby's noise fading into a dull hum behind the heavy doors. "Of course we would settle for nothing less."

"Steven, there you are." A familiar voice accompanied a set of footsteps approaching us. "Mark is coming too right?"

"He's satisfying the beast forming behind these doors," Moffat rolled his eyes; "He'll be in any moment. In the meantime, Martin this Mayfor Night, the mind behind series three."

"Pleasure," I smiled as I held out my hand.

He raised an eyebrow, "Same…"

"Something wrong?"

"No- it's just," he looked from me to Steven and back again, "Well I thought you were American, but your accent I can't quite place."

"Well I did fly in from America," I offered with a sly smile, "And I have lived there for quite some time."

"So where are you from?"

I laughed, "If you need to know I will tell you."

He nodded once, annoyance creeping into his expression, "Right."

"Martin is here to assist with audition," Steven explained, "They will be reading through John's first encounter with Hanna and while that is going on you will have the opportunity to adjust Martin's performance as you see fit."

"I don't expect he'll need much," I smiled at the man across from me. "You truly are a magnificent talent, Mr. Freeman. I tried to capture how you portray John in my story if I failed please let me know."

He studied me, "There were a few things I questioned, but over all you did a fantastic job. You're story, by the way, is kind of amazing. Hanna is a fascinating character."

I smiled as we walked further into the room, "I'd like to say I only write fascinating characters but the truth is I only write what is human. And as humans go we have a great capacity for all things dark. When I wrote Hanna into existence my intent was a female Sherlock with tact and innocence. But as the story continued I realized that there is darkness in everyone, even in the most beloved of people. Hanna is loved, she is all that is good and innocent, but she has an obscured past; a past that many can relate to and unfortunately is not spoken of nearly enough."

He nodded slowly, a smile twitching in the corners of his lips, "Then let's change that."

The door opened. Mark walked in with a grim smile on his face and motioned for Steven to join him. I frowned, my eyes following the two before Martin sighed, "I wouldn't mind them. We're probably over in the budget. It's nothing."

I fidgeted with my ring, "Probably."

"Is that a class ring?" he asked snapping my attention back to him, "it's nice, can I see?"

"Uh," I covered it with my other hand, "It was a gift from someone a long time ago and is precious to me."

He raised an eyebrow, "I wouldn't break it."

"I know, I just-," I bit my lip, "Do you have something you know would be safe in the hand of others but you still would never risk it. All rational thinking is lost when it comes to this and you keep it protected in your own capable hands alone?"

He nodded slowly, still looking perplexed, "That's how I feel about my kids, but I don't see how a ring compares."

I shrugged, "I have no children, only things I carry close to my heart. And I'm feeling slightly uncomfortable with this continued line of questioning as I can tell by your face that my answers will never be good enough to assuage your curiosity. I'll just say that this ring represents something very dear to me and leave it at that, yah?"

His lips pulled into a forced smile, "That's fine by me."

I smiled in return and made my way to the snack table on the other side of the room. Martin was lying, he didn't think my reason was good enough and it was a rather weak excuse. The truth was that it had my real name engraved inside the band. If he saw it he would have questions that I couldn't answer. I should have just left it inside the room; I cursed myself as I nibbled on a carrot. But I love this ring and it's so small, who would notice it? Martin obviously did. Only because I brought attention to it in the first place. By fidgeting with it like I always do when I get anxious. Ugh.

"Mayfor," Moffat placed a hand on my shoulder snapping me out of my argument with myself.

"Yes?"

"We're ready to begin;" he raised an eyebrow, "are you?"

"Uh- yes," I shifted nervously, "I think so."

He lowered his voice, "Remember who you are now. You are Mayfor Night, not Lux. You can handle this you just need to raise up your shield." I took a breath, letting all of my anxieties flow from my body. He was right, I was acting like Lux now, like a scared little school girl. I was Mayfor; I had nothing to fear in here. I didn't care what anybody else thought and I certainly didn't care if Martin didn't like the reason I wouldn't let him see my ring. It was my prerogative; if he has a problem then it is his problem to bear. I didn't have time to worry about him.

I caught Steven's eye, my lips curling into an arrogant smirk, "Thank you, Mr. Moffat."

He smiled as well, "Shall we begin?"

My smile grew, "I thought you'd never ask."

"Thank you," Moffat forced a smile, "We'll give you a call." This was the lie we'd been telling girls for the better part of four hours. One after another filed through the doors with hope in their eyes and by the end of Stevens' lie all optimism had been drained from their bodies. I wanted to force a smile, restore that glimmer of confidence but after the third hour I just didn't have the strength. Some of these girls were awful. It hurt my soul to see them portray my character so thoughtlessly. Hanna was strong, Hanna was wise, and Hanna was not the stammering fool they made her out to be.

"I don't know how much more of this I can take," I muttered bitterly, "I will most assuredly need that drink."

"You and I both," Mark pitched the bridge of his nose.

"I warned you that it would be a long day," Steven said with a sigh as he stood up, "let's take a ten minuet brake."

"Oh thank god," I stood up to stretch, "I was sure you would keep me pinned to that chair forever while girl after girl butchered my Hanna."

Martin chuckled, "Some of them were pretty awful."

"Truly!" I turned towards him, "And I feel some of them were bad just to be bad! How hard is it to do this-" I slipped my sunglasses over my eyes and recited words I knew by heart. "My sister called about my visit."

Martin played along, "Yeah, I just got off the phone with her actually."

"I know," I forced a smile, "I was waiting outside for her to text me."

He let out a hard laugh, "I hope you weren't waiting long."

I shrugged, "Long enough."

He shifted uncomfortably, "She said you were looking for a flat."

I sighed, "My sister tends to misinterpret things. I rent a house up north and am relatively happy there. She thought it would be best if I don't live on my own; something about having someone around just in case."

His eyes narrowed in confusion, "In case of what?"

I paused, my head tipping to the side, "You haven't noticed?"

His jaw tightened, "Clearly I haven't." I smiled gently as I took the glasses off my face. It was harder than I thought, acting blind. My eyes kept trying to focus on Martin's form so I shifted my gaze to the far wall just above his left shoulder. It must have worked because he gave a small gasp and said, "You're blind."

"As a bat," I forced another smile.

"Molly wants Mrs. Hudson to take care of you," he concluded and I shook my head; a dry laugh on my lips.

"She sent me here so you could take care of me," I corrected him, "She thinks you need someone to take care of like you took care of Sherlock."

He paused a moment. When he spoke again it was with a courteous tone in his voice, "You disagree?"

I glanced in his direction, tipping my chin up in irritance, "You do need to take care of someone but I don't need to be taken care of."

He sounded amused with my response, "You don't?"

I glared now, "People assume that because I'm blind I need help, I don't."

Martin held his hands up in surrender, "if you say so."

"I do," I growled acting as if I didn't see his surrendering gesture, "Now if twenty questions is over Lestrade is waiting for us." I turned as if I was about to storm away but stopped myself mid-stride and turned back to the rest of them.

"Are you sure you don't want to act?" Mark questioned me and I raised an eyebrow, "Because that was beautifully done. The best portrayal of the character we've seen."

I gave him a playful smirk, "That's because these girls are not giving her half of what she needs to shine. In them there is not spice; no real life to her. They come in, spout out a few words and call it acting. I swear if things don't look up soon I will have to retire early and recommend we resume again tomorrow."

I would never have to do that though. Two girls later the door opened and… I just knew. This girl would change the course of my time here. She was beautiful yes but that was just the beginning of her. There was something, I could only describe as, real about her. Something solid and unbreakable and strong in the way she moved or the impact of her glance. When her eyes were on me I felt the weight of that recognition. She knew I was the vote she needed to land this role and I saw her change her behavior accordingly.

"My name is Martha Sera," she introduced herself, her eyes lingering in my direction. "I'm auditioning for the part of Hanna Hooper."

"Yes, yes," Steven glanced down at the paper work, "Says here that you are a Victoria Secret model."

"I am," she shrugged, "I was blessed genetically with a certain physique that pays the bills. And pays them well, might I add."

"I think what Seven is trying to say," Mark began, watching her through narrow eyes, "is that you have a good steady job that you seem to enjoy. Why try your hand at acting?"

She shrugged again, "Acting has always been my favorite part of modeling. Getting into the different characters is fun; it brings a new…spice-" she glanced at me, "-to my job. I figured a real acting job would be even more interesting. Plus I'm pretty and everyone knows how much more important that is than having real talent. I plan on using my looks to further my career until I can't anymore."

"So blunt," I tipped my head to the side, "it's as unsettling as it is refreshing."

The corners of her lips ticked into a smirk, "I've never seen the point in playing coy when it comes to your beliefs and intentions. If you tell people what you're after they have the chance to get out of the way before they get run over."

I studied her, pulling my sunglasses off my face as I stood up from my seat, "Martin, I think I will handle this one."

Confusion colored his tone, "Okay…?"

I nodded to her, "You know your lines?"

"By heart," she seemed quite proud of herself.

"Then let us begin," I relaxed my shoulders and adjusted my accent, "You must be Hanna. Molly literally just called about you."

She was caught off guard by the change in dialog but the fire in her eyes only burned brighter, "I know I was waiting for her to let me know it was okay to come in."

I frowned slightly, "I hope you weren't waiting long."

Her eyes met mine, "Long enough."

"Thank you, we're done here," I turned away from her, "We'll give you a call." Her eyes narrowed but she left without another word.

"Mayfor?" Steven questioned as I approached them, "What was that about?"

"Proving what I suspected the moment she walked into the room," I mused, slipping my glances back over my eyes.

"And what was that?" Mark asked crossing his arms over his chest.

"That she's perfect," I said turning to them both in turn. "We'll perhaps not perfect but I believe, with a few pointers, she will fit the shoes nicely."

"Really?" Moffat frowned deeply, "Her? Martha Sera the Victoria Secret model? You told me that Hanna was the white rose in the garden but that girl seemed more like the serpent beneath it."

"You guys asked me here because you said I would see something in the actress that you could never understand," I insisted. "Well I see something in her, I can't explain it. I just know."


	8. A Glowing Review

"So how did auditions go yesterday?" Aleta yawned as she adjusted her web cam to better frame her face. "Did you find the perfect Hanna?"

I shrugged, "Yeah, I guess."

She raised an eyebrow, "And just who do you think you're convincing with that tone of voice?"

I let out a small laugh, "It's just- I thought she was good."

"But….?"

"But Steven and Mark didn't," I explained as I reached for the makeup bag I'd been given the day before. It was full of creams and powders and pencils many of which I had no clue existed let alone how to use them. Being Mayfor-no, being a girl, is hard. "They don't trust her."

"Don't trust her?" she frowned, "Why?"

"She's a Vitoria Secret model," I sighed, "An ambitious one. They're afraid she'll tweet the secrets of season three the moment she'll get her hands on them."

"What's her name? I'ma google her."

"Don't you have school to get ready for?" I asked with a pointed look and she gave me a sheepish grin.

"Probably, but that's not for another… hour. I got time."

"Aleta," I scolded, "I knew I shouldn't have left you on your own."

"Relax," she rolled her eyes. "Mom and Dad came back yesterday-"

"They said they would be back on Sunday!" I shouted.

"They were only two days late!" she defended them with a shrug. "Honestly, Lux, I'm fine. I'm eating, going to school, and getting all the parental love and affection I can handle. You worry about ambitious actresses and professional liars with cute butts."

"Aleta…"

"Seriously," she smiled, "I'm fine."

I nodded once, "Okay."

"Now," she clapped her hands together, "I must get ready for school. Which is not nearly as fun as meeting famous actors and writers."

"Are your sure about that?" I raised an eyebrow, "I'm about to spend the next hour painting my face with things I can't even name."

"Is that why you're in the bathroom?"

"The plan was to start while I talked to you," I admitted with a grin, "But that didn't happen."

"I swear to god, you're going to procrastinate your life away."

"Probably," I smiled. "Have a good day at school."

"I will _Mom_," she teased. "Have a good day becoming famous."

I laughed, "Yeah." She disappeared and my smile faltered. Aleta said everything was fine but I still worried. My parents were good people; I knew they loved Aleta and I with everything they had. But they could also be quite thoughtless. They're home now, I reminded myself. They said they wouldn't take any more trips while I was away.

I looked up at the mirror in front of me, watching the green eyes that watched me. I should be happier about all this. I shouldn't have this uneasy feeling in the pit of my stomach as I got ready for the day. Everything was going great! The writers all welcomed me with open arms. We found someone to play Hanna. So why did it feel like I was bracing myself?

"Miss Sera, thank you for joining us," Seven forced a smile as she walked through the doors. It was just before lunch and we were meeting the model in the lobby of the studio where we would be filming. I of course was in my 'Mayfor' specific attire; ergo the white wig and large sunglasses. Thought todays costume consisted of a black pencil skirt, white blouse, and a black fitted suit jacket. Unfortunately Steven got his way when it came to my footwear and I was wearing black open toed pumps. It wasn't that I had trouble walking in them as he assumed when I refused to wear them yesterday, it was more of an identity issue than anything. I understood that, to keep who I really was a secret, Mayfor and I had to be as different as possible but… how far did we really have to go?

"Of course," she smiled; a touch of smugness colored her voice and dripped across her expression. "I had a feeling you would come to your senses and I had a photo shoot in the city this morning so I was nearby."

I nodded once, my gaze catching hers even through the dark tint of my glasses, "You are under the assumption that we choose you because of your looks?"

She shrugged, "Obviously."

My head tipped to the side, "Miss Sera, if you will not take this seriously then please don't waste any more of our time."

Her smile fell and I felt Steven and Mark tense up beside me, "Excuse me?"

"This isn't a game," I said taking a step forward and sliding the glasses off my face, "Your looks didn't get you here. They are in fact your biggest disadvantage."

Her eyes went wide, "What?"

"Your hair is the wrong shade," I began dissecting her, "You're much too tall and skin far too tan to play a recluse of five year. These are all things we must pay to fix you see, thou your height… I suppose we'll have to be clever and work around it. You're what, five-nine?"

"Five-eleven," she glared at me now.

"Of course you are," I sighed heavily.

"If all those things are wrong," she began, crossing her arms over her chest, "then why am I here? Why did you hire me?"

"Because one of us saw the potential for actual talent," I kept my gaze steady. "You're portrayal of Hanna was far from perfect but it is believed that, with some guidance, you could prove to be a fine actress. I do hope you don't disappoint that person."

She didn't say anything. Her glare faded away and I watched, impressed, as she swallowed her anger. She wasn't used to being talked to like that, and I suppose I did come down rather hard but she needed to be pulled down a peg. She would have continued to give a subpar performance if she thought her appearance got the job. If I was going to prove to Steven and Mark that she had the talent to work on this show I needed to humble her.

"Okay," she spoke after a moment, "I understand."

I kept my voice cold, "Good. Now Mark will give you the tour of the studio and bring you to the different departments as you are needed. I will be joining you as well, for a time, as I too am unfamiliar with the studio."

I could see the annoyance bubbling in her eyes as she forced a smile, "Joy."

"I think we best begin with the most essential of the departments," Mark began with an easy smile, "War-"

Martha cut in, "Makeup?"

"-drobe…" he trailed off before flashing me an exasperated glance. "Uh, no. Wardrobe will be first."

"Sorry, I'm so use to modeling," she shrugged, looking slightly embarrassed. "Makeup is the most important there."

"Well now, as an actress, you will find that you costume is the most important thing to have," He smiled, leading us down the hall. "How your character dresses can tell you as much about them as having tea."

"Tea?" she raised an eyebrow, "You really are British, aren't you?"

He didn't look at her, rolling his eyes as he answered, "Yes, Miss Sera, I am British."

"What did you think he was?" I asked raising an eyebrow.

"Don't look at me like that," she frowned in annoyance, "I meet a lot of different kinds of people while I work. Some of them say they're British and then act more American than I do."

"I see." I didn't.

"We're here," Mark said, breaking the silence as we rounded a corner to see a large open space. Half the room was filled with racks of clothing, most of which were on wheels. A few had character names and episode dates; I recognized Sherlock's iconic suit and coat among the rows of clothing. On the other side designers were hard at work putting together outfits and altering them to fit Martha's small frame. "As you can see these talented ladies of have been hard at work for a few days. Mayfor you need to speak with the Head of the department about Hanna's style and Martha one of her assistants will be taking your measurements. You're manager sent a set to us in an email but we like to take our own just to be sure-"

"Mark," a voice in the hall behind us caused me to flinch internally, "and ladies, hello." Ben's eyes were on Martha, desire bubbling behind the gentlemanly front he put forth. As Lux I was hurt at the dismissal but, on some level, I understood. Martha was a beautiful girl and I was… I was ordinary. There was nothing special about me to draw his eyes away from her. I don't really know why I expected anything less. As Mayfor I was curious about the man before me. Ben paid me no mind but he had my full attention.

"Ben," Mark smiled as he shifted his weight, "I'd like to you meet Mayfor Night, and our Hanna Hooper, Martha Sera." He nodded to both of us upon introduction but Ben's gaze never strayed from Martha who was now giving him a flirtatious grin.

"It's lovely to meet you," he spoke to her alone, "I have read your story and am blown away with how you approach such a difficult subject. It's really quite masterful-"

"Ben," Mark cut him off with wide eyes as I tipped my head to the side. Ben's eyes turned to him, his confusion by Mark's sudden exclamation clear on his face. I found it amusing that even then he didn't look at me. Even in this awkward pause, he didn't acknowledge my presence.

"I'm glad you think so," I spoke up and his gaze finally moved to me, "But it is my understanding that you haven't even touched my manuscript."

His jaw hung slightly ajar, "You-"

"I am Mayfor Night," I smiled, "The woman whose arrival you've been dreading and whose story you have refused to read. Not that I'm offended or anything."

He looked at Mark, desperate for help, but Gatiss wisely stayed quiet, "I am so sorry-"

"I don't actually care what you have to say, Mr. Cumberbatch," I sighed in a bored tone. "You have had your reservations about my involvement which I can appreciate. But you have been viciously attacking my credibility and my story every chance that has presented itself. That, you must understand, is something I cannot so easily forgive. Especially since you can't really comprehend either in the slightest."

His jaw still hung open, silver-blue eyes moving from me to Martha, who was holding in a laugh, to Mark and back again. It was then that I realized the true depths of my anger. He flat out refused to read my story and does so without a second thought. Until he thinks that beautiful Martha is the one who wrote it. Then all of the sudden it's masterful, he blown away with the writing and her approach to the subject. He hasn't even read it yet he's giving her this glowing review! Is a pretty face really what he cares about?

"We are not friends, Mr. Cumberbatch," I said coldly, "Until such a time when you prove otherwise, I will regard you as nothing more than a petty child I must endure." I turned to the others, "I will talk with the wardrobe head and then retire for the day. Enjoy the rest of the tour Martha. Mark we'll have to reschedule, perhaps with that lovely niece of yours."

"I'll see if she's up to it," he nodded and I began to walk away before stopping.

"One more thing," I looked back over my shoulder, my glasses slipping down my nose so my green eyes caught Ben's with no filter to dilute the ice in my gaze as I flipped him the bird, "You can go fuck yourself. Have a good day everyone else."

Mark nodded, "Good day."

"See yah," Martha choked on a giggle as I gave her a short nod before walking over to the rows of clothing to inspect the severely lacking rack labeled 'Hanna'.

I was so mad, how dare he! The other night he flat out said, to my face, that he hadn't even touched my story and thought my involvement in the show was a huge mistake. I can understand wanting to protect the show but then he changes his opinion so drastically when he thinks Martha Sera wrote it?! Really?! I was so angry as I looked through the outfits on the rack, all I saw was red. I've never been rejected and dismissed like this; especially by a man I idolized! He always seemed to kind and honest on TV, a picture of gentleman's honor with sky blue eyes. Now all I saw was…

I sighed, shaking my head. All I saw was the human side of a man I put a pedestal. It wasn't right of me to hold him to the public made persona of him. He was a normal man, one who probably deserved a second chance.

Not today, I thought bitterly, today I get to be furious.

"You must be Mayfor," a woman approached me about a half an hour later as I shifted through the cloths on Hanna's rack. "What do you think so far?"

"I'm a tad confused," I admitted through a forced smile, "These clothes are labeled for Hanna but are nothing like what I described in the story."

"Well there were only really two outfits described in the text," she explained, shifting uneasily, "and, from what has been described to me, Hanna is a party girl so I tried to reflect that in her clothing."

"She is a party girl," I agreed, "But her clothing is supposed to reflect her subconscious belief in fairytales, in a dream come true."

"Is that as relevant to the story?" she asked, a bemused smile on her lips.

"Very much so," I pressed, "It is part of who she is- part of what makes her different from the others that Sherlock surrounds himself with."

"And how do you suggest I dress her?" Annoyance coloring her voice as she crossed her arms over her chest.

"I'm sorry have I offended you?" I asked frowning at the woman.

"Actually you have," she didn't hold back, "You come in here and tear apart two days' worth of work because of a concept that wasn't properly conveyed in the text I was given. I understand your writer types have all these images about your ideas floating around in your head but if you can get them through to the readers then how do you expect _me_ to just magically know what you're looking for?"

I paused a moment, my jaw slack with shock. She wasn't wrong; I didn't really explain Hanna's style or the reasoning for it. It was such a trivial thing at the time that I didn't really concern myself with describing her clothing. If a reader was curious I explained but other than that it didn't matter. It wasn't until they asked to use my character that it became important. I can't blame her for not understanding what I didn't properly state. "I'm sorry, you're right. I didn't state that in the text."

She, let out a long breath, "No, I'm sorry I snapped. I just hate to see all our hard work go out the door."

"I understand that," I said with a small nod, "I truly do, but perhaps we don't have to scrap all of this."

"How do you mean?"

"When Hanna finally explains her life to Sherlock I have the idea of flashbacks showing the viewers what actually happened," I explain, "We can use these outfits for that."

"True," she nodded, "but that still means my team and I have to start an entirely new concept that I have very few ideas on how to convey."

"I can help with that," I smiled now, "I can go through the clothing and pick out examples of what I would like. You and yours go home for the night and in the morning I will show you what I found and from there you can take over."

She gave me a smile and nodded again, "I like that idea, and you should feel free to look over the other characters so we can discuss them tomorrow as well." We separated on semi-good terms, an understanding formed between us. She didn't like to have her time wasted. I could respect that. However I had a feeling this would not be the last argument I had with a crew member. I was someone new in charge of something they thought they understood. I was rocking the boat; I had to assume there would be some resistance.

My day had gone from bad to worse before I could blink. How is that possible, I wondered as I looked through the racks of clothing from other shows the studio produces. I was already feeling uneasy and about my role here, namely about my decision to hire Martha. Mark and Steven were so reluctant to agree with me, it made me question my decision too. Then Martha showed up with an attitude, proving them right and putting me more on edge.

And Ben… I just didn't understand him. Now that I had time to distance myself from it I knew I had been a little harsh (and I have to be more careful about my conversations with him as Lux influencing my interactions with him as Mayfor). But at the time all I could think was how he changed his opinion so quickly when he though Martha wrote the story. Why? Why did he do that? Was it because of her pretty face? Or was it something else? A real, valid reason for what he said what he did, was that too much to ask?

As the room cleared, and I was left alone among the quiet clothing, I realized why I was bracing myself before. Part of me, the naive and foolish part, was still expecting things to be like they were in my daydream. I had expected it to be easy and joyful; in my daydream I got along with all the crew and Ben and I were easy friend. I didn't have to worry about people finding out who I really was, the girl we found to play Hanna was beyond perfect. In my daydream I was so happy, now I wondered if I ever would be


End file.
